


tracing; faintly

by Ser_Renity



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OT3, POV Third Person, Pre-OT3, Pre-Slash, Starrk POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Renity/pseuds/Ser_Renity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coyote Starrk was dreaming of simpler days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tracing; faintly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stupidwolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidwolves/gifts).



> I love Starrk so, so much.
> 
> This has hints of Grimmichi only but I wrote a series on this, so yeah, this is, in fact, the pre-slash intro (or continuation of the first entry in this series) to a poly fic. No love triangle. Personally, I really fucking hate that trope lmao
> 
> chucking this at @viih bc I dragged them into ot3 hell and never looked back (and I am still hyped for you joining me on this strange journey)

 

* * *

 

Coyote Starrk was dreaming of simpler days.

  
It was difficult to remember them in their entirety; when he should have seen a distinct place what he saw was a color. With a hole in his chest it didn’t come as a surprise nothing stayed with him for long. Memories, people, thoughts.

  
In the simple dreams everything was still fine.

  
The Espada were formed and united to an extent, the moon was high in the sky and the deaths were but a memory to him.

  
Starrk cared too much, he always had.

  
“They don’t return those feelings,” Lilynette said to him once, her voice sad and quiet like it never used to be before.

  
“I don’t care,” Starrk said and closed his eyes, “And neither do you.”

  
So they kept caring and kept flinching as more and more of them fell.

  
Aaroniero was the first and he turned the concept of simple on its head. Suddenly the threat was real and close and the war scratched on their door.

  
Starrk remembered it all because he felt their deaths in the instant they passed on. It wasn’t like a blow to the skull or a gunshot, it was more subtle and yet so much worse. You could see a wound, treat an injury. Starrk didn’t know what to do with the thought of his fellow Espada dying.

  
Zommari died, so did Nnoitra. Szayel followed and he was called to the human world before he could feel Ulquiorra and Yammy fade.

  
Grimmjow came to warn him, bloody and beaten. Starrk knew it was too late. The simple days were dead and gone, the war approached them step by step.

  
Then he was gone and Lilynette with him, a descent into solitude and a crushed city below.

  
However, he was only gone until he wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

Starrk awoke with a start.

  
Dying had never been one of his favorite things, not the first and not the second time. What remained of the many human memories collected in his hive mind was not too fond of their murderers; Starrk tried to envision the shinigami captain who had dealt the finishing blow and all he saw was flowers, shadows, the blue above. He had never been good at holding grudges.

  
“You’re awake,” someone said.

  
Starrk questioned the validity of that statement since he felt more like an abstract concept at present. His head hurt, his tongue felt like rubber and there was an itch annoying him where he knew the Hollow hole had been punched into his chest by death. It was still there, he knew. Even without the chain of fate it was impossible to deny its existence.

  
Starrk attempted to move and soon realized he couldn’t. Rings made of stone enclosed his wrists and ankles.

  
“What...?” he muttered and turned his head to the side in the hope of discovering something about his situation.

  
Every movement felt slow and dull as if he was drunk or drugged out of his mind. Moving his head took him more effort effort than expected; his neck hurt as if it ground on rough stone.

  
The sight he was greeted with was just as unexpected.

  
“Hi,” the human boy said and smiled warmly.

  
Starrk had never met him properly, they only brushed past each other for a second in the middle of the war when orders were still absolute.

  
The room itself was very plain, if he had to guess he would say it looked like a regular hospital. The only exception were the drawings on the wall, colorful and without finesse.

  
“You’re probably confused, but that’s why I’m here. I’ll answer your questions as best as I can.”

  
Starrk nodded slowly and closed his eyes again. So far he had tried to deny it, suppress the memory of a second soul beside himself. It was gone now, that feeling of absolute trust and its bond. They should have taken an arm instead.

  
“Oh, also, I should probably introduce myself-”

  
”You’re Ichigo Kurosaki,” Starrk interrupted and coughed.

  
“And you’re Starrk,” Kurosaki answered, “Grimmjow told me a lot about you.”

  
“Likewise.”

  
Starrk decided he liked the boy; maybe he was biased because all the stories he had heard had painted him in such a good light it was impossible to hate him. Alternatively it could have been Kurosaki’s way of speaking: there was no arrogance, no pretense in his voice. What Starrk had expected from Soul Society’s supposed savior was some sort of disdain for Hollows; but then he had listened to Sexta’s rants so often that he began to believe the boy could live up to the expectations.

  
“Is he okay?”

  
Kurosaki seemed surprised and then nodded without delay.

  
”Grimmjow? Yeah, he’s fine.”

  
“Good,” Starrk said and leaned back again.

  
Trusting the shinigami seemed like a terrible idea, no matter how trustworthy he was supposed to be. A friendly demeanour and gentle eyes did not mean he could not kill or lie. After all, someone had killed Ulquiorra, Yammy and Nnoitra- even if Kurosaki was not responsible for all their deaths it was impossible to believe he was not involved at all.

  
“So Aizen lost,” Starrk said and saying it out loud did not lessen the crushing weight on his chest.

  
“Yeah,” Kurosaki confirmed, “A while ago, actually.”

  
“What happened?”

  
Asking a question like that was not the most clever thing to do and he was aware of that, every potential answer would not please him, sugarcoated or not.

  
However, Ichigo Kurosaki did not seem like a person who would leave out details for someone else’s sake.

  
“Like he isn’t lying,” Grimmjow used to snap as he paced and tried to make sense of the boy’s behavior, “Like he isn’t out for our heads.”

  
Now Kurosaki’s eyes narrowed and his expression turned weary, laced with just that tiny bit of somberness.

  
“The short version?” he asked and huffed out a laugh, “I defeated him.”

  
“And then?”

  
“Then Soul Society put him underground. In a prison, I mean. He’s alive.”

  
Starrk observed the boy but there were no visual clues he was lying. By now his vision had cleared and he could take in his surroundings a little more carefully; the reiatsu signatures of several humans were close by. Some stronger presences were eluding his detection skills and Starrk deduced that his assumption about the restraints was correct.

  
Kurosaki must have noticed the twitching in his wrists.

  
“Sorry about the shackles,” he said, “Soul Society insisted.”

  
“No, I understand,” Starrk replied, “They worried I might take your heads off the second I awoke.”

  
Kurosaki laughed and it was strange how casual he was, sitting there in his human clothes without a weapon close by, the corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

  
“I asked Urahara about an alternative and he managed to come up with something else, so whenever you’re ready we can give it a try,” he said and got up, “I mean, I can only give you my word it isn’t gonna do something horrible.”

  
If he had not been missing half his soul Starrk would have smiled. Like this he tried in vain and settled on nodding. So many others were dead.

  
Kurosaki left his field of vision and for a second it felt like there had never been anyone around in the first place. A cruel joke, two seconds of reprieve from the solitude just to be left alone again. Starrk wanted to sleep but there was no way he could.

  
Then there were fingers against his throat and he flinched.

  
“Oh shit,” Kurosaki said to his right and sounded honestly sorry, “I didn’t tell you. It’s a collar that suppresses your reiatsu as long as you wear it. My bad, though.”

  
Starrk tried not to think of a fight above a human city, about a name called in vain and shadows that betrayed him.

  
“Go ahead,” he said, “Do what you need to do.”

  
A slim band of metal wrapped around his neck. As it clicked shut Starrk realized it tightened and expanded with his breaths, it never restricted him.

  
“All good?”

  
“Amazing.”

  
Kurosaki seemed to appreciate the humor and set to work.

  
Starrk stayed completely still even as the pressure on his left wrist disappeared. Then the right, then his ankles. His first thought was to test the strength of the collar and his reiatsu flared as he allowed it to increase.

  
It was still there, under the surface, the power he had accumulated over time and yet it was dampened considerably.

  
Starrk struggled to sit up. Even if moving his eyes had become easier the same did not apply to his body. Like a helpless child thrown in water or a person weighed down by their own shadow his arms were heavy, his legs wobbly and weak.

  
“So that’s an improvement, I hope,” Kurosaki said and went back to the chair he had occupied previously, sitting down with a sigh, “Not optimal, but what can you do. Soul Society is just being overly cautious, I guess.”

  
Starrk stared at him incredulously; no amount of stories had prepared him for this kind of attitude.

  
“You would trust me?” he asked, “You met me just a moment ago. For all you know I could jump and strangle you at any given moment.”

  
Kurosaki laughed again.

  
“Yeah, you know, it’s true I don’t know you. But Grimmjow does and I trust him with my life,” he admitted and snorted, “Don’t tell him I said that, I’d never hear the end of it.”

  
“So he did go to you for help.”

  
“Yeah,” Kurosaki agreed, “That was over three years ago.”

  
A timespan too short to impress a Hollow, but it wasn’t the amount of time that mattered.

  
“You didn’t ask yet,” Kurosaki began as if he could read his mind, “Why exactly you are here. I mean, you do remember, don’t you?”

  
“Dying is hard to forget.”

  
Starrk swallowed and the collar followed the movement of his throat, a wave underneath the skin.

  
“Then why?” he asked, “Why am I here?” _And why isn’t she_ he didn’t say.

  
Even in moments like this he had never known how to be passionate about his anger or fear or sorrow. It was only ever a quiet, sinking feeling that intensified as the seconds ticked away and the issue did not fix itself.

  
Now, in the company of the enemy dressed in clothes with burned edges, he could only listen.

  
“Honestly, we’re not sure,” Kurosaki said and bit his lip deep in thought, “You just kind of appeared.”

  
“ _Kind of_?”

  
“See, a lot of stuff happened since you guys were killed,” Kurosaki continued and grimaced, “Like, another war for example. With some Quincy who wanted to destroy the soul king.”

  
Starrk lifted his eyebrows and stayed quiet, prompting the human to continue.

  
“Some other shit happened and he was restored in the end. The soul king, I mean. Turned out he appreciated that an awful lot and so suddenly people’s wishes were being granted all over the place- one for everyone involved with his rescue.”

  
Starrk was certain his first question should have been to inquire about the soul king; Aizen never spoke of him and Hollows were not as informed about shinigami business as they often pretended to be.

  
“So you believe someone wished for me to return?” he asked instead because his newly living mind was selfish, his brain arrogant. It was a pleasant thought, someone caring so much they would demand for him to be returned from the void.

  
“That’s what we think, yeah,” Kurosaki answered, “But the other Hollows swear they didn’t do it, so we’re kind of stumped.”

  
Starrk nodded and stayed silent for a while, thoughts strewn across his mind like a box of marbles spilled on the ground.

  
“I don’t want to pour salt in the wound,” Kurosaki said and leaned forward to get a little closer, “But your partner-”

  
“She hasn’t returned with me. It’s just me,” Starrk finished the sentence, “Yes, I know. I appreciate you trying to be honest with me.”

  
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  
And Starrk believed him; because for some reason Ichigo Kurosaki was to be trusted and he was tired of questioning his intentions.

  
“So what happens now? Am I a prisoner of war? A hostage?”

  
“For now you’re my guest,” Kurosaki said and grinned, “Well, technically this is my dad’s place, but you’re just here because of the medical supplies. We weren’t sure if you’d need any help.”

  
Starrk opened his mouth and then closed it again.

  
“Like his kindness isn’t just fake,” Grimmjow used to say, “Like that asshole isn’t just out to kill. They’re all the same with their pretty words and promises and then they fuck you up when you’re turning your back on them.”

  
“I suppose a thank you is in order, then,” Starrk murmured and blinked twice as if that could clear his mind, “You might not have brought me back, but you could have easily taken advantage of my weakened state and chose not to.”

  
“Grimmjow was right,” Kurosaki replied and rubbed his neck, “You really are damn polite for a Hollow.”

  
“I try.”

  
“And he’s got a sense of humor! I might have a new favourite Espada.”

  
Starrk managed to crack a small smile even if his first instinct was to look for Lilynette and check if she was alright. There was still no one answering his call, a dead silence at the other end of his soul that now laid flayed and bare.

  
“How many others are alive?” he asked then. Another question to regret.

  
“Well, Grimmjow is, he’ll want to see you for sure,” Kurosaki started and counted the others on his fingers, “Harribel, Nel and their fracciónes are still in Hueco Mundo. Apart from that? I think some of the Privaron made it out, but I am honestly not sure about the rest.”

  
“Good, thank you.”

  
Starrk remembered Nelliel; he had never found out why she left but he had not labeled her a traitor as quickly as others had. Harribel was different- but they had been relatively close when it came to the Espada.

  
“That makes you elligible for the throne, doesn’t it?” Kurosaki asked, “I mean, with you being the Primera and all.”

  
And that might have been true, once upon a time.

  
“Not without Lilynette,” Starrk said, “I am not much of an Espada without her. With Aizen gone I imagine a former title holds little value.”

  
“Yeah,” Kurosaki agreed, “That’s true.”

  
The silence should have been uncomfortable, but there was no pressure on them, no malice in being quiet when they both felt the weight of the words.

  
Starrk shivered even if he did not feel the cold. His hierro was still active, still protecting him from the outside. But it was the inside that was amiss, the large tear in his soul.

  
“You said this was your father’s place,” he said slowly and folded his long legs beneath him, “I am guessing that means I am not to stay here.”

  
“Hey, you don’t have to stay anywhere you don’t want,” Kurosaki responded defensively and frowned, “But if you want a place to stay you can crash at my place. The whole collar situation is only temporary if I can help it, Soul Society needs to accept Arrancar are not only out to kill them.”

  
“Aren’t we?”

  
“You were on Aizen’s orders. Would you attack Soul Society if you had the chance now?” Kurosaki asked.

  
Starrk wondered what kind of answer he was expected to give; his mind was blank and hatred had never been his strongest suit.

  
“I am not interested in vengeance.”

  
“See? That’s what I mean exactly. Harribel just wants to live in peace, you are less bloodthirsty than half of the squad captains and-”

  
He stopped and paused, rubbing his neck.

  
”But I am not the one who should talk to you about the Hollow business,” he continued and got up, “Come on, I took up enough of your time already.”

  
Starrk found himself following him without complaints- for the first time since he could remember he did not feel tired at all.

 

* * *

 

 

The last time he met Grimmjow they both thought they wouldn’t see each other again.

  
"Get out of here. You don't owe Aizen anything."

  
So when Kurosaki shoved him through his apartment door he stumbled a little and then stopped, frozen in shock.

  
Grimmjow was there, in the hallway, still looking like he always had.

  
No, Starrk decided, that wasn’t true. Grimmjow stood there in human clothes and fit into the place as if the hole in his gut was just for show.

  
They stared at each other for a long while, ridiculously surprised and somehow sharing a feeling or disbelief. It was surreal meeting like this when they both should be dead; and they both were, just not in the way that counted.

  
Grimmjow wore the boy’s clothes, his hair ruffled and his feet bare on the wooden floor. His eyes were stil alight with the special kind of liveliness he claimed for himself.

  
Starrk wasn’t sure what he expected- a snarled greeting, maybe, an off-handed compliment.

  
Instead Grimmjow hugged him; like a human would, someone with a heart and a soul that was unbroken.

  
The force that he used to barrel into Starrk sent them stumbling backwards against the door.

  
“Shit,” Grimmjow muttered and tightened his grip, “You fucking bastard.”

  
That was more like the Sexta Espada from three years ago; but Starrk also felt arms and subsequently warmth surround him. Human. Affectionate.

  
“You’re different now,” he said.

  
Starrk reached out and tentatively returned the embrace. The entire moment was fragile, delicate. A word like volatile was not what others associated with Grimmjow but he knew better.

  
Starrk almost turned his head to trade looks with his other self; share the moment like they shared souls once. There was no one there.

  
“Sorry,” he said and chuckled into the blue hair that tickled his nose, “I didn’t know-”

  
“Don’t finish that fucking sentence,” Grimmjow growled and hugged him even tighter, “You better stay put and feel guilty for dying.”

  
“So selfish,” Starrk mumbled but he wasn’t angry at all. His exhaustion was gone and his mind perfectly sound; he could smell soap on Grimmjow and hear the alledgedly useless heart beat away.

  
It was a strange thought, a good thought, knowing that he had not been alone before. The Espada were gone but the two of them were not; and even if Starrk could not forget his soul torn in half for a second it didn’t hurt as much.

  
“Did you wish for this?” he asked and rested his chin on the other’s shoulder, “Was it you?”

  
Grimmjow hesitated but what he said did not feel like a lie.

  
“Nah. I wasn’t with them when they saved the soul king, I’m not part of the wish-granting squad.”

  
Starrk slumped a little and leaned back against the door.

  
“I see,” he sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

  
“Y’know I didn’t get along with her,” Grimmjow mumbled, his voice quiet because he hid his face, “But I wouldn’t have wished for you to come back by yourself, goddamnit.”

  
It had never occured to Starrk that he had not been the only one who listened for hours on end; as the Sexta he had had problems conveying it, but it became clear Grimmjow had never been as indifferent as he liked to pretend.

  
“Are you gonna let go of me anytime soon?” Starrk asked.

  
“No,” came the muffled reply.

“Very well then.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, well, would you look at that,” the head captain said, “This is... unexpected.”

  
Starrk nodded at him and folded his hands behind his back.

  
“I assume you were not informed, then,” he said, “That despite the fact that you killed me successfully I am still here.”

  
Shunsui Kyoraku was a name they wouldn’t be able to forget- and just as Starrk thought that he turned around to check on Lilynette. Still nothing, still no one. Static at the end of the line. They did not exist anymore.

  
“No, I did know,” the captain said and rubbed his chin, “But I was certain you would not pay me a visit.”

  
He followed Starrk’s gaze to the empty space near the door, a void in the form of a small child.

  
“I’m not here to take revenge in any shape or form,” the Primera Espada said as he turned once again, “I’ve come to ask if you know who is responsible.”

  
Another question as difficult to answer as the last. One for everyone involved.

  
“It wasn’t me, if I was still a suspect,” Kyoraku said, “I had to reserve mine for someone else.”

  
Starrk was sure he meant the other captain, the white-haired one who had refused to fight Lilynette. The quiet sorrow still pulled away at his insides, tugged and tore.

  
“I see,” Starrk said and felt out of place in the head captain’s office, just one Hollow against the entirety of Soul Society.

  
“You look like you could use a drink,” Kyoraku said, “Consider it a welcoming gift.”

  
It was not the strangest situation either of them had ever been in. Drinking with one’s killer was not the worst thing that could happen.

  
Starrk still looked over his shoulder sometimes; the ache was dull but constant.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m not trying to replace her,” Grimmjow protested before he could even say anything, “I know that’s impossible, but someone had to-”

  
“It’s fine,” Starrk slowly replied and lifted the small dog up until its tiny tongue licked across his nose.

  
“With Yammy dead no one knew where to put that thing,” Grimmjow said and gestured towards the small creature as if it was a piece of furniture.

  
“You do realize I am not an actual dog?” Starrk asked and smiled wryly.

  
“You do realize people still make cat jokes about me, too?” Grimmjow answered promptly and grinned.

  
Starrk rolled his eyes at him and looked down at the tiny Hollow looking up at him with dark eyes and the absolute happiness of a dog seeing someone it cared for.

  
“Can’t be much worse than you,” Starrk muttered and ignored Grimmjow’s protests entirely.

 

* * *

 

 

“At first I wasn’t sure why you would do such a thing,” Starrk said and leaned back against the wardrobe door, “But I am sure now. There is no other explanation.”

  
Ichigo looked up at him and his smile slowly faded.

  
It had been weeks since they met for the first time and here they were again, alone and faced with a question that was difficult to answer.

  
“I don’t know what you-”

  
“I would appreciate if you did not lie to me,” Starrk interrupted, “I just want an explanation, nothing more.”

  
For the first time their silence was uncomfortable and stretched like gum on the sole of a shoe.

  
“Why did you choose to bring me back?”

  
Ichigo buried his face in his hands.

  
“You know why,” he sighed, “I didn’t know you but Grimmjow cared about you a lot.”

  
And that was all there was to it; a mystery solved and another reassurance.

  
“I didn’t know about Lilynette, I swear,” Ichigo continued and he grew more nervous as he spoke, “It was a stupid decision and not mine to make and seriously, I am glad you turned out to be such a cool guy but-”

  
“Thank you,” Starrk said to stop him, quiet and amused even as the collar moved with every syllable, “I appreciate your honesty.”

  
Ichigo looked up and before they knew it he was laughing.

  
“Fuck, how are you a Hollow?” he asked, “Adopting stray Espada and dogs left and right, then this-”

  
He gestured at himself.

  
“I try,” Starrk replied dryly.

 

* * *

 

 

He met Lily again years later as he visited Soul Society on a whim.

  
“You walk around Rukongai so much you’re gonna pass as a shinigami soon,” Grimmjow had teased him once, “Watch out, they’ll give you a fucking robe and those horrible sandals soon.”

  
“Says the guy who refuses to wear anything but high heels,” Ichigo had muttered.

  
“They’re boots.”

  
“With giant heels.”

  
Starrk smiled as he thought of them and kept walking through the crowd, down the riverside until there were no more people surrounding him.

  
The small dog nipped at his ankles whenever he stopped, urging him to move on and keep going.

  
All this time he had waited for a chance to see the other half of his soul one more time; had imagined what it could have been like to say goodbye.

  
And suddenly there she was, nothing but a child sitting in the grass with her legs dangling over the edge of the channel. The water rippled where she threw stones onto its surface; watched them sink, watched them disappear.

  
“Is that your dog, mister?” she asked and sounded just as rude as before.

  
It wasn’t like a dream; the world was painted in red and orange as the sun went down over Rukongai. It felt like a thought from the past, a memory rather than a present.

  
“Well he seems to think he is,” Starrk said and watched as Lilynette frowned and looked him up and down.

  
“You’re weird,” she said.

  
“That’s what I’m told,” he answered and smiled.

 

* * *

 


End file.
